Birthday wishes
by I'm Nova
Summary: For their joint birthday, Harry Watson calls her twin...and somehow they end up talking about Sherlock. (That's a habit John needs to break himself from.) Gift fic for Old Ping Hai (it is 30th July since half a hour where I am). Harry is Harry, so...alcohol trigger warning? Still same story, typo fixed (only I can manage typos in so few words, sorry!)


_Disclaimer: I do not own a single thing._

 _A.N. This is me being utterly silly. Usually for any birthday fic I ask for a prompt, to be sure that the recipient enjoys it. This time I didn't, because I wasn't sure I would manage to write it in time, and I didn't want to disappoint them if not. So…happy birthday my dear! Hope you don't hate this._ _Also, this is my first attempt at a three flat problem. Aka, a 221 ending in a word starting with A, another ending with a word starting with B, and the last one ending with a word starting with C. I swear, my Microsoft word says that I managed to do so. For some reason, neither fanfiction . net nor AO3's word counters have ever agreed with my own._

Birthday wishes

"Happy birthday to us…" John heard as soon as he answered the call. Oh God. Harry. His twin (older by five whole minutes, as she never allowed him to forget) sister Harry, who had clearly already started partying at…yes, ten and half in the morning. Actually, if he knew her – and he did – she'd probably started right at midnight and gone on and on.

He dutifully joined in on the chorus. Anything else would start a fight, and he didn't need one today. Thank God his flatmate was out – probably pestering Molly for body parts – so at least John didn't have to listen to a snarky side commentary.

"What presents did you get, Johnny?" she asked then, slurring the words a bit.

"None still. And hopefully I will not. It isn't exactly something I go around advertising, you know, the fact that I'm getting older. Try not to think about it," he huffed. It wasn't exactly true that he would receive nothing. At the very least, at the surgery they had his cv, and he was pretty sure that the cute nurse knew, so he could maybe get a coffee or a kiss out of it. But his sister would feel less miserable if he answered like that.

"We're _not_ old!" she whined piercingly. "Barely over thirty!"

And a mess already.

"Anyway, won't your genius flatmate deduce that it is your birthday?" Harry inquired, teasing.

"He's a detective, Harry, not a wizard. Case in point: he still has no idea what my middle name is. He's trying to deduce it since I threatened to use it as password, since he's broken all the others," John recounted, a smile on his lips.

"You hate your middle name," Harry remarked, apparently surprised he'd want to type it at all.

"You hate your first one, Harriet. So? It doesn't mean that you don't use it on paperwork," he remarked, deliberately annoying her. Maybe this painfully awkward call would be cut short.

"Joooohnnyyy!" she screeched angrily. "You know."

Of course he did.

"Anyway if you gave him a gift for his birthday, Sherlock will have to get you something," his sister remarked, apparently giving up berating him any longer.

"I didn't – for the very good reason we hadn't met yet," the blogger pointed out, shrugging even if she couldn't see him.

"But you know the date," she observed. Interesting.

"Decided to pry it out of Mycroft. Might as well make himself useful, during all these kidnappings," he admitted, laughing.

"You didn't ask Sherlock?" she queried, surprised, before quickly surmising, "You wanted to surprise him!" She sounded gleeful. "Are you wooing him?"

"Course not, Harry!" he barked.

"When _is_ his birthday, anyway?" his sister queried.

"Twelfth night," John replied.

"Capricorn…that's not the easiest relationship. But you're a terrific team for work!" Harry declared.

"Are we?" he couldn't help but ask. The Work was what mattered to Sherlock, after all.

"You advertise, and people fall for it, because you _honestly_ believe that your team is the greatest thing since sliced bread. And he manages the budget," she explained.

"And this is the evidence that astrology is crap, Harry, we'd join his homeless network in a month if I left him in charge of the bills," he laughed.

"Isn't he utterly organized?" she asked, pout evident in her voice.

"Very much not…unless you count his mind palace, I suppose," John remarked, shrugging.

"His what?" his sister whined.

"I'll send you a link," the blogger promised. Yes, he'd looked into it. And she could read it when – if her – her hangover waned. Besides, he didn't believe. Sherlock _was_ the most brilliant creature ever born. "But enough talk of my flatmate, Harry – how are you?" he asked.

"You know how. Miserable. And you should be too, if fairness existed. After all, we're twins! Instead you are obscenely happy," she complained, screeching.

"I promise, Harry, I'm a mess too," John assured, sighing. But she was right. At Sherlock's side, he was utterly chipper.


End file.
